Aching wrists

I sit alone in my room,

Staring at the mirror.

Wondering to my self.

“What’s wrong with this picture?”

“Am I too fat,

Too short,

Not curvaceous enough for you?”

What could it be?

Why don’t you want me?

I grasp my stomach, wishing all this would go away.

Vowing, once again,

That I will not eat a single piece of food,

No, not until I’m skinny enough for you.

I lay on my bead, staring at the ceiling like a night star.

Thinking about all that is wrong with me.

A tear rolls down my cheek like an avalanche,

Feeling my blood running hot under my wrist.

Maybe… maybe I could cut just once.

I could let just a little pain out.

I walk quietly to the kitchen,

Taking out a knife.

The cold steel kisses my skin,

And I want to drag it,

To make a mark.

But I cant,

Why Can’t I?

What’s is wrong with me?

I have all this pain inside,

And I cant even let it out.

I run back to my room,

Slamming myself onto the bed.

Not even one line on my wrists.

A river of tears flow down my cheeks,

My wrists ache for release again,

A normal thing for me,

As I cry myself to sleep.

Only to dream,

Dream once more,

Of you.